


The Naked Variety

by out_there



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-15
Updated: 2007-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Matt wonders for a moment, if he says no, if Mohinder will continue without him.  The idea of Mohinder spread out naked on the bed, hands sliding over his own skin, jerking himself off while Matt watches...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Naked Variety

**Author's Note:**

> Total PWP. Set between S1 and S2, where Mohinder is travelling around the world giving lectures. Thanks to [](http://celli.livejournal.com/profile)[**celli**](http://celli.livejournal.com/) for audiencing and going "mmmf" and "awww" in all the right places. Thanks to [](http://scribewraith.livejournal.com/profile)[**scribewraith**](http://scribewraith.livejournal.com/) for betaing.

Matt's half-heartedly sorting the laundry when Mohinder rattles the front door, muttering under his breath about keys and stupid locks and horrible children.

"Hey," Matt says, opening the door for him.

"IJustSpentTheLastFiveHoursOnThePlaneRideFromHell," Mohinder grumbles, words blurring together. He rolls his shoulders and walks straight to the bedroom. Matt follows and stifles a snigger as Mohinder drops his suitcase on the floor and face-faults onto the bed. "There was a monster, an absolute monster of a child, not even seven years old, who sat behind me and kicked my chair. For the entire five hour flight."

"Kid's got stamina," Matt says, heading back to the pile of clothes. Mohinder usually comes in and crashes after a flight, sleeping off the jetlag. Normally Matt leaves him to it.

But this time, Mohinder hasn't stopped complaining. "The entire trip, Matt! For five hours, the little brat used my chair to practice his goal kick and the parents did nothing. In fact, when I turned around and asked him to stop, he burst into tears and the mother told me I should be ashamed of myself for picking on a child. A child who, within three minutes, was kicking my chair again. I feel like a human boxing bag."

Matt abandons the laundry and heads into the bedroom. Mohinder's still lying across the bed, arms spread out dramatically. For a moment, it reminds him of Molly, of the way she'll sit in a chair, arms folded, and refuse to move until she's finished complaining. He wouldn't dare mention it to either of them, though.

"Give me a massage," Mohinder calls out, voice muffled by the mattress.

"What, I'm at your beck and call now? Yours to order around?"

"Yes." Mohinder sighs, stretching his arms up. The tail of his shirt rides up, exposing the black t-shirt underneath. "Some children should not be allowed to fly. Some should not be allowed in public."

"Tell me about it. Janice's sister's kids? They were horrors. Cling-wrap over the toilet, chewing gum in your hair, screaming right in your ear."

Mohinder groans. "All children are horrible monsters."

"Apart from Molly."

Lifting his head, Mohinder looks over his shoulder. "Clearly, I wasn't talking about her."

"Sure."

"What happened to my massage?"

"You really want a backrub?" Matt asks, toeing off his shoes as Mohinder nods and then lets his head fall back to the mattress. He kneels across the bed, knowing this is proof: he's whipped. So whipped. "Why am I doing this again?"

"Because--" Mohinder shuts his mouth quickly, but Matt still hears the thought. _Because you love me._

Matt covers quickly. "Because, huh? I can work with that."

He pushes up Mohinder's shirt, and the t-shirt beneath it, and then runs his hands slowly down each side of Mohinder's spine. He knows the sore spot when he gets to it -- both from Mohinder's low groan and from his mental, _Ow, yes, there, right there_ \-- and settles back on his knees, working the flesh with his thumbs.

There are advantages to telepathy. Sometimes, he hears the answers as people ask questions. Sometimes, he knows which suspect is lying. And right now, he uses Mohinder's inner litany of _Oh, ow, hurts, yes, good pain, ow, too hard_ to guide his fingers, to slide along sore spots of muscle and knead out the tension.

When the voice in his head changes to a relaxed, _Oh, that is good, so good, ooooh, really good_ , Matt stops.

"Thank you," Mohinder says, not moving.

"I supply a backrub on demand and that's the thanks I get? Maybe next time I should finish the laundry first."

Turning his head, Mohinder watches him through narrowed, sleepy eyes framed by dark lashes. "What type of thanks would you prefer?"

Matt had actually been griping just for the sake of it but, hey, he's a guy. He's not going to say no to sex. "What type of thanks are you offering?"

Mohinder pushes himself up to his knees, shrugging off his shirt and then pulling his t-shirt over his head. "The naked variety," he says, standing up.

Mohinder reaches down, unfastening his belt, and Matt's never going to get over the sight of those long, dark fingers efficiently working the buckle, pulling the leather belt out slowly. He'd worry about developing some weird fetish over it, if it wasn't so damn hot.

"Are you planning on participating?" Mohinder asks slyly, looking up through those lashes, and that brings an entirely new image to Matt's mind.

He wonders for a moment, if he says no, if Mohinder will continue without him. The idea of Mohinder spread out naked on the bed, hands sliding over his own skin, jerking himself off while Matt watches...

That's hot enough to make him forget the whole belt-unfastening thing.

"Matthew?" From his tone, Mohinder has clearly said his name more than once.

"Um," Matt manages and then has to swallow.

"Did I lose your attention?" Mohinder pushes his pants off his hips, catching his underwear as he goes, and then slides them all the way down. Bent over, he pauses and pulls off his socks, and there he is: naked Mohinder. Always a good thing.

"The particip--" Matt nearly swallows his own tongue trying not to drool -- again, naked Mohinder; naked Mohinder walking around the bed, leaning over to switch the lamp on -- and tries again. "The participation question. Was that... actually a question?"

Mohinder frowns at him for a moment, then walks over to close the curtains. Matt's glad for it. He always feels uncomfortably exposed having sex with the curtains open, even if he's living in a NYC apartment now and not likely to have anyone walking by their window. "I would say it was more of an attempt at flirtation than an actual question."

"Sure," Matt says quickly, awkward and wondering if he should bring it up or if Mohinder will think it's a bit too pervy. "'Cause, um..."

"You thought it was a question?" Mohinder asks, sounding confused. Then his eyes widen and Matt sees the exact second when Mohinder gets the idea. "Oh."

Mohinder laughs, a small, surprised chuckle, and it's not the best moment in Matt's life so far. "It was just a thought."

"But one that you liked," Mohinder says, still sounding a little shocked, a little amused.

"For obvious reasons," Matt points out, shrugging as he says it.

"I would have thought participating would be the obvious way to enjoy--" Mohinder pauses, and if he'd said 'naked activities' Matt would've laughed, regardless of his current embarrassment. "But if you want to watch..."

Mohinder shrugs, as if the idea is a bit ludicrous but he doesn't really mind.

Matt's pretty sure he's blushing. Even though he's currently the only one wearing clothes. "Yeah. I would. Like that."

"Did you have anything specific in mind?"

"Um..." Matt hasn't felt this embarrassed about sex since he was in high school. He has the urge to shrug, to bury his hands in his pockets and say, 'Whatever.' Instead, he tries to articulate -- using actual words -- what he thought of. "You. On the bed. Touching, I mean... jerking off, basically."

"Okay," Mohinder says, nodding to himself. He walks over to the bed, and that's when Matt notices Mohinder's already half-hard. Matt's well past that, but he presses his hands against his thighs, barely trusting himself to breathe, let alone move. "Was there a particular position?"

Swallowing doesn't ease the dryness in Matt's mouth, so he shakes his head.

There is something relaxed and confident in the way Mohinder opens the bedside drawer and flips open the cap on the lube. He squirts some into one palm and then rubs his hands together, saying, "There is something quite strange about being watched. I honestly don't see the appeal."

He gets on the bed, kneeling, one leg at a time, the muscles in his thighs moving as he folds his legs and settles on his knees. His back is against the wall, his knees are spread, his cock rising, flushing with colour. "Maybe you need to see it from here," Matt manages, not sure where to look: at that lean stomach, at his chest as he breathes, the strong thighs or the hand lightly cupping his cock, the lube gleaming in the soft lamplight.

Mohinder talks, but Matt doesn't even look up. "It's not the perspective. I had an ex--" Here Matt looks up, suddenly jealous and so turned on he's barely thinking straight, and Mohinder shrugs. "She liked to tape things, so I know it's not the perspective. I just don't see the appeal."

Matt's vaguely aware of Mohinder's hand starting to move, arm shifting slowly, but his imagination takes over his higher brain functions for a moment as he imagines the best porn ever. "She got you. Doing this. On tape?"

"Yes, well, I was young," Mohinder says, and that does nothing to reduce the hotness of the idea, "and realised later that one should never tape anything that cannot be shown to parents."

There's a story there, Matt's sure of it. A very embarrassing, hilarious one, he'd bet. But Mohinder is starting to stroke himself, hand sliding from root to crown, fingers so loose that it must be more tease than pleasure. The story can wait.

"If you were imagining something else..." Mohinder leaves the thought open, inviting ideas.

"Um, good," Matt manages, anything with two syllables far beyond him while Mohinder is kneeling there, golden light catching on the edges of muscle, highlighting his collarbone and shadowing his knuckles. Mohinder has a hand pressed against his thigh for balance and the other is moving lazily, slowly, drawing this out. In his own ears, Matt's breathing is loud, laboured, drags of breath keeping time with those leisurely strokes. "This. This is good."

He's so hard that he's aching, feeling light-headed, his knees a bit wobbly, so Matt sits down on the end of the bed. Compromises: pulls open his pants but leaves his boxers. Doesn't take his eyes off Mohinder, Mohinder's hand starting to move a little faster.

Mohinder's breathing starts to speed up, his stomach and chest moving with each quiet breath, the light skimming over places Matt's touched and licked and bitten.

Matt looks up, and while Mohinder may not see the appeal, he's gorgeous like this. Mouth parted, eyes half-closed and impossibly dark against the white. There's a shadow of stubble along his jaw, five o'clock shadow that seems to hit Mohinder at midday, and Matt knows how rough it is, like a cat's tongue, knows how it scratches as Mohinder kisses down Matt's body, how it leaves his thighs feeling sensitised and raw when Mohinder sucks him off.

Matt was right. This is the best porn ever.

No strange camera shots, no bored looking women, just Mohinder stretching his head back, neck taut, tendons standing out as he breathes, as he shifts, as his hand starts moving faster and faster on his cock. Just Mohinder, beautiful and breathless, so close Matt could crawl up and touch him.

Could trace along the lines of light, the dipping shadows. Could run his tongue down Mohinder's neck, spread his hands across the bulging thigh muscles, across the slim hips that keep jerking forward, just a little, pushing Mohinder's cock through his fist.

Could push Mohinder's hand out of the way and open his mouth, wrap his lips around Mohinder's cock -- slick now, the head leaking as it pokes through that circle of fingers -- and suck hard. Or let his lips go slack, let Mohinder fuck his mouth with those twitches of hip and quiet gasps.

Matt groans at the idea. And then wonders why the hell he's holding himself back.

He lurches up the bed, moving quickly if not gracefully, and Mohinder's eyes open wide when Matt grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away.

"I thought you wanted--" Mohinder's voice is low and gruff; blues, cigarettes and sex rolled into one sound.

Matt kisses him, sharp and hard, then says, "Better idea," and leans down, sucking Mohinder's cock as deep as he can take it. He swallows, shifts his weight to his forearms and knees, and then swallows again, taking it deeper.

"Matt!" It's an exclamation, sure, not a shout, but it's the loudest he's ever heard Mohinder in bed.

Well, it's the loudest he's ever heard Mohinder *vocally*.

Mohinder thrusts, hips moving raggedly, no rhythm, just desperation. His hands are on Matt's head -- skimming over his cheeks, running through his hair, hovering at the back of his neck, clenching as Matt swallows around him -- and the only warning Matt gets is a weak shove away. A warning that he ignores and just swallows again, feeling Mohinder come hot and salty down his throat.

Matt pulls off, pressing a brief kiss to the head of Mohinder's cock, knowing from the way Mohinder flinches that it's too sensitive for anything more. When he kneels up, Mohinder is gasping for breath, chest heaving as he tries to get control again.

"Now, that," Mohinder says, sounding puffed and out of breath, "I see the appeal in that."

Matt kisses him, laughing into the kiss. The seconds stretch out as they kiss, Mohinder licking inside his mouth, tasting, the way he always does after Matt blows him. It's possibly the hottest thing ever, if you don't count undoing his belt or jerking off just for Matt to see. He moans around Mohinder's tongue, can't help it, and that's when Mohinder presses forward, the heel of his hand firm against Matt's trapped cock.

It's so good he nearly comes.

"Fuck--" He cuts himself off, muffling the noise in Mohinder's mouth, and then belatedly remembers that Molly's not home. Swearing is allowed.

Which is just as well, since he curses again when Mohinder shoves his hand inside Matt's boxers, jerking him off hard and fast and dirty, hand still slick from working his own cock. He feels like he's been hard for at least a decade, so it's over quickly. One, two, three quick strokes, then Mohinder twists his hand, and Matt's biting down on Mohinder's shoulder, grunting as he comes.

He drops his forehead to Mohinder's shoulder and stays there, panting against Mohinder's warm skin, his head too heavy to lift.

Mohinder rubs along his back so Matt stays there, feeling the warmth of Mohinder's hand through his t-shirt. Post-coital cuddling. Matt will never admit to it -- not out loud -- but he's a firm believer in enjoying the afterglow. Mohinder won't admit it either, but Matt's read his mind.

It's warm and comfortable, until his knees start to ache and his back starts to complain, and then Mohinder says, "In hindsight, you probably should have got undressed."

"I'll take it to the laundry tomorrow," Matt says, easing back and trying not to look at the state of his pants. He pulls them off and then figures there's no point wearing a t-shirt without pants, so he takes that off too. The bed looks very, very welcoming.

"I thought you were doing the laundry today," Mohinder says mildly, raising an eyebrow as Matt pulls back the covers.

"I was. That was before the mind-blowing sex and the decision to take an afternoon nap."

"Mind-blowing?" Mohinder asks, amused at the phrasing.

"Get under the covers, Mr I Just Spent The Last Five Hours On The Plane Ride From Hell," Matt says, rolling his eyes. "Also, I don't hear you disagreeing about the quality of the sex."

"I doubt you'll hear such disagreements any time soon." Mohinder crawls under the covers, curling up behind Matt and looping an arm over his torso. Then he adds, "Considering we're on such intimate terms, I believe you can call me Mohinder."

Matt laughs. Mohinder has a wicked sense of humour and he loves it. Which brings another thought to mind. "I do, you know."

"You do what?" Mohinder asks, vowels dragging a bit as sleep gets closer.

"I know why I do this, the backrubs, the laundry, all of it," Matt says, giving Mohinder's arm a quick squeeze. "Because I love you."

Behind him, Mohinder's quiet, breathing deeply. A quick scan of his thoughts confirms Matt's theory: Mohinder's fallen asleep.

Matt thinks that's an excellent idea.  



End file.
